Burn the Witch
by HollyinSanest
Summary: Sorceress-in-training Sansa Stark searches for the Red Woman. But how do you find someone who doesn't want to be found? Magic AU. Ramsay/Sansa/Petyr. Very OOC.


**Burn the Witch**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own ASoF or any elements from the GoT show. Sorceresses chracterisations drawn from the Witcher series. Magic exists, so elements from other books/video games with magic elements.**

 **Synopsis: Sorceress in training Sansa Stark searches for the Red Woman. But how do you find someone who doesn't want to be found? Magic AU. Sansa/Petyr. Very OOC.**

 **Background: AU where magic exists. The Tully line carries ties to the Eldritch while the Stark line (like in the books/show) carries ties to ancient Wild magic. Sansa, aged much older than in the books/show is less whiney and more capable of taking care of herself but still a little innocent.**

 **There's no war between the Five Kings, as for now. King Robert still holds the Crown, seeking council with his trusted advisors and court mages. Otherwise most of King's Landing drama remain the same with exception of Sansa being out of the picture.**

 **And the Night's Watch operate as some sort of monster hunting groupie. So, yes. Magical creatures exist but they don't seem so nice to its human neighbours**.

xxxxxxx

 **1.**

Sansa Stark peered at the small mirror for the umpteenth time, her lips pursed in concentration. She started to feel a small headache growing, the tiny throb in her skull that threathened to become loud pounds in time.

Wincing, Sansa sighed. She was going to write this attempt as another failure. Her teacher and endearing Mistress, the sorceress Melisandre of Asshai, dubbed the Red Woman, often scried through the smallest of flames. But that was by pure preference. Sansa found it much more useful to carry around a mirror. It would do the job just as well.

Her reflection now only showed the present. The very same blue eyes of the noble sorceress Catherine Tully stared right back at her. Again Sansa sighed. She missed her mother despite having parted ways just barely a month ago. After all, young sorceresses should always forge their own path, rather than forever seeking shelter under her mother's wing.

With a loving hug, Catherine Tully sent her daughter away just as she did her trueborn son, Robb Stark and her ward, Jon Snow. The young men she had always called brothers went their parted ways. One as a sellswored, swearing to come back after a time to their father's estate when he was ready to settle, while the other taking the Black. It may be one of the worst choices when seen from another's perspective but taking up the Black meant guarding the Wall from threats beyond it.

It was a dangerous task. One never quite knows what is beyond it except for the stories old Nan told them.

Sansa thought of Jon.

He was never the ruling kind, as he always pointed out. Yet every younger Stark sibling seem to drink in his words, as if they were wisdom from a learned Maester. Reminiscing her childhood was a waste of time. Working her fingers through the tangles of Tully red hair, Sansa mentally went through all the effort she had made to locate her missing teacher.

She had written to Jon, asking for him to keep an eye out at the Wall, just in case. Another raven went to her father, to plead for him to write back if the Red Woman were to set foot in King's Landing.

She had visited her great uncle, the Blackfish, just before her cordial trip to Riverrun, in hopes that there would be news on any sightings. Yet the only news he had was the one coming from the brewing tension of the Northern lords amongst each other and the Crown. Then there was word of the bad harvest brought on by the the drought that sweeped the region no longer than a year ago. Winter was close. It being one of the worst in centuries.

But still no word of the Red Woman.

Upon her arrival to the local inn, Sansa had found herself in deep conversation with the innskeeper's wife. Apparently there was more news in the frontlines. The self proclaimed King Stannis Baratheon had his army marching through the North, bringing the ungodsly battle through the once peaceful countryside. On the South, King Robert Baratheon, Stanniss' brother, assembles his lords, calling for aid even to the foreign dignatories from the Dornish Islands.

In short, war was brewing.

Winter is coming.

Her father's words. A shame that she would not set foot at the Red Keep where her father is serving as the advisor to the current Hand, Jon Arryn. The rest of the family received an occasional raven now and then. Once, their father had even sent for them to join him at the capital city but her mother forbade them. Sansa remembered how she and Robb caught Arya trying to sneak herself to join their lord father, dragging her back to Winterfell despite her sister's almost triumphant hike southward.

Setting the mirror aside, Sansa got her provisions ready for the morning ride. Crawling onto the mediocre bed, neither comfortable or lumpy, worries clouded her thoughts despite being a little worn. She casted a silencing spell over her room, allowing the noises from the other occupants to fade into silence.

The next morning, Sansa made her mark on the underside of the inn's bed. It was a simple etch of a linnet bird scratched into the wood. It was her sign just as the red flame was to her teacher. Usually her mark called for protection but this time, it was more for luck and blessings. After all, she half-heartedly dreaded her meeting the current Tully residing and claiming lordship over the Riverlands. The rides worth to the Riverrun stronghold had done nothing to brighten her mood.

The Riverrun guards on watch let her in without question. She had made casual acquaintance with most of them during her previous stay. But never as a child had she grown up in this keep. Even her mother had rarely shown any inclination on bringing up her time growing up as a girl. Her grandfather, Hoster Tully, was never ill in bed albeit being close to a hundred. Most of the time, some details would slip past his head. One such time was when he referred to Sansa by her mother's pet name, Cat.

To her surprise, there was an envoy of the King's men, standing by the courtyard, two Whitecloaks. She was caught surprised when her eyes fell upon the rest of the men and their cloaks. Red. The men had sigils adorned with the Lannister's roaring lion on their breasts.

Sansa had the hood of her periwinkle blue cloak up, keeping the upper half of her face hidden. None of the men dared approach her, each rather minding business of their own than to start something with their host's niece. Also she was an excellent study in magecraft, so it was not as if she couldn't have handled any dire situation although she was yet to learn any sort of magic that could do harm.

Climbing off her mare, Sansa handed the reigns to the waiting stable boy's hand. With it went a silver piece. The boy's expression immediately brightened.

'Thank you, milady,' he blurted before leading her horse away.

'Sansa!' a sharp joyous shriek rang through the courtyard before a force slammed onto Sansa, gripping her in a tight embrace. Oleander Redwyne, the Tully's current ward and Lord Edmure's page. The girl was barely three and ten, wild bright orange hair like autumn leaves tied back in a loose braid and cat-like green eyes on a freckled face, all with the loud and rambunctious personality of a true Redwyne.

'Oleander, you've grown your hair,' Sansa exclaimed, awkwardly giving the girl's curls a pat. As expected, Oleander was dressed in Riverrun livery. Sansa knew well that Oleader had aspired to become a Lady Knight. But instead of sending her into the hands of a capable knight, her father had instead sent her to Riverrun in show of good faith to Hoster.

Rather quite contrary to the young girl's dreams, unfortunately.

'You wouldn't believe how boring it has been,' Oleander moaned. 'It's all fetch this and that. Pour more wine. Stand straight, don't slouch. Don't laugh either because nothing's ever funny.'

The girl's half hearted complaints made Sansa giggle almost childishly. It was as if they were back to being children, the many times Sansa minded the girl during her stay at the Arbor. They walked towards the great hall, taking the scenic route towards her uncle's study. After all there wasn't any rush in seeing Edmure Tully especially when he may be entertaining a royal guest.

'So tell me, Page Redwyn, who is it that graces us with his royal presence?' Sansa asked when Oleander halted to give one of the wandering household cats a few friemdly pats.

'The Master of Coin,' Oleander shrugged.

'What is the Master of Coin doing in the Riverlands? I'd assume he would rather be sitting in some fancy chair next to the King,' Sansa raised an eyebrow.

'Oh, not Lord Baelish, he would rather be with us lowborn than kiss some King's fat arse,' Oleander snickered.

'You do know that statement is likely some form of treason,' Sansa warned her friend, earning a dismissal snort in reply.

'Well, you don't know Baelish,' Oleander said haughtily. 'He is kind and wise. Always smells of peppermint. And always good to me'.

Sansa wondered of this Lord Baelish was also 'good' with the servant girls as he was with Oleander.

'And the next thing out of your mouth would be about his looks,' Sansa snorted. 'Why don't you dream of knights instead?'

'Psssh, it's the bloody aristocratic ladies who dream like such fools. Give me a rich man anytime and I'll retire happy,' Oleander pointed out. Brushing cat fur from her doublet before beckoning for Sansa to follow her in the right direction.

The two of them reached the study. Motioning for Sansa to stop, Oleander pressed her ear to the hadwood door before opening it just a crack to peer inside.

'What is it, Oleander?' Sansa heard a voice ask, not unkindly. It surely wasn't her Uncle Edmure.

'Is Lord Tully in?' Oleander asked.

'He went to attend to a private business. Is this of any urgency?' the voice asked.

'No, Lord Baelish,' Oleander said meekly. Sansa nearly rolled her eyes at the young girl's behaviour. It seems someone was a little too fond of the Master of Coin. At this point, she wouldn't have been surprised if she caught her friend attemting to squirm herself to the Lord's side.

'Please, just Petyr would do. We aren't in Court. Besides, your Lord father would be eager for your word,' Baelish said.

'Thank you, milord,' Oleander said with excitement. At that, she pulled Sansa in and closed the doors behind them.

Sansa understood the exchange.

It was likely that Petyr had been Oleander's means of a messenger to get word to her family. A favor for her friend and politically favourable for one Petyr Baelish. The Redwyns are not active in Court, usually sending only emissaries in place of one of their lords. But that was in good faith since the Redwyns were famously known for producing the finest Arbor Gold, something the Queen Regent treasures most.

Stormy grey green eyes met Sansa. Baelish muttered inaudibly. It was short. Maybe it was a name. There was a spark of recognition but it died down as soon as Baelish cleared his throat. He was seated behind a large desk, quill in hand hovering over a roll of parchment. The hearth roared throughout the uncomfortable silence in the study.

'Lady Sansa Stark, I presume,' Baelish said finally.

Sansa barely murmured a greeting. She was still in unease over Lord Baelish's reaction.

'Lord Baelish,' Sansa finally acknowledged him. She did not curtsy or bend at the waist. He was no King and even if he was, sorceress do not bow to anyone except to the Goddess.

Baelish got up, rolled up the parchment he had been working on and allowed Oleander his seat, The page did not hesitate in writing a long passage home, probably inclusive of every single complaint about Sansa's uncle.

Baelish move to pour Sansa some wine, passing her the goblet. Sansa took a sniff and was surprised that it was Dornish wine.

'Courtesy of Doran Martell,' Baelush informed her when be caught sight of her raised brow.

'Friends from across the narrow sea?' Sansa asked.

'Yes. I'd assume your ladyship understands the benefits of having contacts outside our Royal Court,' Baelish smiled pleasantly. 'Makes business more condusive under certain conditions'.

'Agreed. Along with the fine wine,' Sansa said, drinking in the aromatic wine. This was a step up from the cup of ale she had at the inn.

'True. Where does your journey take you, Lady Stark?' Sansa caught a gleam in Baelish's eyes when he spouted her title.

'Please call me Sansa. Lady Stark is my lady mother,' Sansa told him. 'Perhaps towards the South, I think'.

'Good,' Baelish said. 'It'll be safest if we'd travelled together'.

This drew a certain fiery heat deep within Sansa. Starks were notoriously famous for their thunderous tempers and Sansa was no exception.

'Beg pardon, Lord Baelish. I don't suppose you would have noticed but there would be no need to trouble your men,' Sansa said sharply. The last thing she needed was a damned escort.

'I mean no offense. This envoy carries a decent amount of riches. I cannot pass an opportunity to stand within the protection of a sorceress when it arises. If my lady understands the risks involved and considers my humble offer,' Baelish told her with expected grace of a noble courtesan.

Sansa scowled inwardly. Clearly Baelish's tongue may have worked efficiently in Court but he may have to do much more to persuade her. Yet a voice inside her did deem Baelish's words as reasonable.

'I could see that you'll be compensated,' Baelish added coyly. 'Do consider, Sansa.'

'And if I were to go my way?' Sansa asked.

'I cannot prevent that, my lady,' Baelish told her.

'Alright, I will consider. But I must seek council with my good uncle before I decide further,' Sansa told him.

'Do so with my thanks, my lady, Business calls, Sansa. I do hope you will be gracing us with your presence during tonight's feast,' Baelish bowed at the waist, leaving the study. His footsteps light in the quite room.

'Charming, isn't he?' Oleander smirked from her seat at the large desk. The young page had stayed and witnessed the whole exchange.

'Don't you have some page work to get to?' Sansa asked, partially annoyed.

'If only Lord Edmure lets me swing a sword,' Oleander muttered like a sullen child.

'Sansa?' her uncle called by the door. Oleander dashed away from the desk, running towards the hardwood door to open it and receive Lord Edmure Tully.

Sansa was amused by Oleander's mischief.

'Uncle,' Sansa gave her lord uncle a peck on the cheek as a manner of greeting. 'Great Uncle Bryndan sends his regards.'

'I'd rather doubt so, sweet niece,' Edmure told her with amusement. ' You can thank my lord father for that'.

'How does grandfather fare?' Sansa poured her uncle some of that Dornish wine. If she were to take up Baelish's offer, she was sure he wouldn't mind in sparing some wine on his host.

'Oleander, don't you have your duties to attend to?' Edmure turned to his page. With a customary mutter of 'yes, milord', Oleander made herself scarce. To Sansa he said,'He is well despite recalling less ever so often. He forgets who he converses with and often calls out for your aunt and mother. Now what was Oleander doing here?'

'Keeping me company. Uncle, why take up a page when you don't actually need one?' Sansa took a sip of wine, deciding that she should distract Edmure from Oleander. Also she had no intention of letting her uncle read Oleander's letter to her family either.

'Oleander has grand delusions in becoming a knight. I made a promise to her lord father that his lovely daughter shall never set foot in a battlefield as long as I still hold breath,' Edmure said. Sansa did not miss the sigh that came after those words.

'A handful she may be, Lord Uncle, Oleander is unique in her manner of expression. It'd be folly to have her hate you just because you denied her experience as a proper page,' Sansa mused.

'Yes, dear Sansa, I do realise that,' Edmure nodded in agreement. Edmure took a seat by the hearth. 'As long as she is safe. But you haven't come all this way just for the Redwyn girl, have you? Something has happened'.

Her uncle's voice was grave.

'I'm afraid you are correct, Lord Uncle,' Sansa said. She daren't reveal the details. Her uncle may not act but there were ears around Riverrun willing to overthrow its current residing lord.

'Would you stay the night? At least let me provide some provisions before you leave,' Sansa detected an order despite her uncle's kind voice.

'If there's no trouble,' Sansa curtsyed.

Her uncle sat by the hearth, sipping wine while Sansa placed her goblet on the desk. Rollimg up Oleander's long winded letter, she concealed it within the folds of her skirts.

'I will take my leave, Lord Uncle,' Sansa said before slipping outside.

To no surprise, Oleander was standing by the hall, casting anxious glances at the study.

'I have your letter, sweet page,' Sansa waved the parchment under Oleander's nose. The girl squeaked, hugging Sansa again before snatching the letter from her hand. Sansa stopped Oleander before she could scamper off.

'It's best if I hand your letter to Lord Baelish. You'll be horribly busy at the feast,' Sansa explained. The girl saw some sense in Sansa's words. With a shrug, Oleander handed the roll of parchment over. They made their way towards the room Sansa usually took when she visited Riverrun.

'If you will, milady,' Oleander shrugged. 'Would you be sitting next to Lord Baelish? What are you going to wear to the feast? Is it one of your apprentice robes? Can I stay while you get ready? Could-'

Sansa held up her hand to stop the flow of endless questions.

'Take a breath, Oleander,' Sansa ordered the page sternly.

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The feast was not a bore. Drunken men make the laudiest jests as they sang and crowed at any of the serving maids that dared mingle amongst them. Sansa did find a seat beside Baelish. After making sure that Oleander's letter was in safe hands, Sansa found herself enticed by the song spreading amongst the gathered men.

'The bear and the maiden fair,' Baelish snorted, cradling a mug of mulled wine. He did not seem as drunk as the other men. To Sansa, he looked tired and a little bored. She sat beside him until almost to the end of the feast's revels, at which a player started serenading what was left of the drunken crowd.

'Do you play any instruments, Lord Baelish?' Sansa asked, perking up at the newfound sudden curiosity.

'Please, call me Petyr. As for the instrument, a lute, when I was a child,' Baelish smiled. 'Thought it would impress girls. My lord father broke it in two in fear that I might play it for the rest of my life. Charming man he was, always had an eye for opportunity. What about you, Sansa?'

'No talent there, Lor-Petyr. But I am told I have a good voice,' Sansa said, drinking deep from her mug of ale.

'If the lady should be so kind for a verse or two,' Baelish suggested, his glinting eyes reminded Sansa of Arya just before her sister pelted her with spoonfuls of meat pie.

Sansa found herself swimming in the depths of Baelish's green eyes. They were so close. Almost touching, barely a hair's breath away. Yet both of them froze, caught in each other's half drunken gaze. Sansa felt her cheeks heat up. Then as if on cue, the flame on the candle sitting on the nearest candelabrum flared higher than the rest.

'My apologies,' Sansa felt her cheeks burn as hot as dragonfire. She waved a hand over the candle, extinguishing the candles all together.

Then with sudden boldness, Sansa brought the flame back. A small one this time. Concentrating, she molded the flame into a small bird which eventually grew into the form of a wolf. It raised its head as if in mid-howl before romping around a candlestick. The wolf grew into a dragon. The flames at its wingtips were turning blue, the dragon never stopping midflight.

'Better not let King Robert see that,' Baelish told her drily. Sansa startled, the dragon dying out into a small flame that snuffed out as soon as it touched the wooden table.

'Huh?' Sansa realised how unlady like she sounded.

'He despises dragons. Nearly took the whole city trying to purge the Targaryan insignia,' Baelish mused. 'Ever since, not even any of his noble bannermen dare mention or carry semblance in any manner'.

'Many have the right to forget,' Sansa said solemnly. The Mad King was fond of flames. And one such past time included the burning of what he called 'witches'. Most of the powerful sorceresses did what they had to for survival but none gave their sister's away. Those that burnt were the ladies that displeased the King personally and those whom had fallen prey to the witch hunt.

Sansa's teacher has instilled a wisdom deep within her. Never trust a King. They blow many ways like the wind. A misstep and your head might end up on a pike.

'Or remember how much the costs,' Baelish told her. He had an amused look about hos face, his lips tipped into a gentle smirk.

'It's best if I retire for the night,' Sansa turned to Baelish, bowing a little before retreating to her room.

She did not know when the feast ended but by the time she had made her way to the serving hall, there weren't as many men breaking fast. Sansa walked past them, noting that a night full of feasting did had its effects. Baelish was seated across Edmure with Oleander hovering nearby. serving as page.

'Good morning, Lord Uncle,' Sansa greeted her uncle before smiling at Baelish.

'Lord Baelish,' Sansa murmured, admiring how his title rolled off her tongue easily.

'Lady Stark,' Baelish gave her a polite smile.

Sansa took a seat, pulling out two corked vials onto the table. Her uncle familiar with the gesture, took one and emptied it immediately while Baelish threw Sansa a questioning look.

'For a swift recovery from a night filled with wine,' Sansa explained. 'Just a simple brew, if you'd believe it'.

Baelish didn't touch the vial but Sansa left it there all the same. Sansa began tucking in, retrieving a meat pasty. She couldn't stomach porridge since that incident involving a spelled pot that would only produce a thick cold gruel.

'Lord Tully,' a guardsman slipped Edmure a small piece of parchment. Through small nibbles of pasty, Sansa observed her uncle reading the note. His palor paled just as with shaking hands, Edmure crushed the parchment in his fist. Sansa watched her uncle's expression turn grim.

'It's best if you and your men left before midday, Lord Baelish,' Edmure finally told them after a while.

'Uncle, what is it?' Sansa asked, setting the pasty down and brushing crumbs from her fingertips.

'There was an attempt on the King's life. Your father is now the Hand,' Edmure reported.

'Then we will depart, dear Uncle,' Sansa said. 'If Father has taken up King Robert's offer, I suppose it worth a visit'.

'Best we did so, then. If you'd have my leave, Lord Tully. You have indeed been a gracious host,' Baelish got up, motioned for one of his men and started giving orders. Sansa observed her uncle's unseeming turn in behaviour. Edmure Tully wasn't a hard man to read. Even now, he was as if an open book.

Something was definitely wrong.

If her father was now the Hand, something may have had happened to Jon Arryn. She wasn't surprised if anyone had made attempt on King Robert's life. With all the revels that he had been holding at the kingdom's expense, Sansa didn't mind so either. Although King Robert was more tolerant to sorceresses than the Mad King, word had travelled round regarding the indiscretions between the monarch and his court sorceresses.

'Uncle, if you are sending word back to Father, please send him my regards,' Sansa kissed her uncle by the cheek as a gesture of farewell.

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Sansa could not leave the sinking feel about their journey. A cart filled with coin would have attracted unwanted attention. So, Baelish had his men look as if they were traders traveling towards the capital city. All the escorting guards in attendance were garbed like mercenaries, bearing nothing to display their allegiances. Their journey would not be a short one. With no tarry, it would take them at least three weeks time.

But the never-ending sinking feeling troubled Sansa. It had been bad enough that she refused food in fear of bringing up the sense of nausea. One night, Baelish found her sitting by the edge of camp. He pressed a hunk of bread and a skin of wine into her hands.

'Best eat,' he told her. 'Won't have you keeling over and falling off your horse.'

'How does the politics at King's Landing fare, Lord Baelish?' Sansa asked, deep in thought as she ripped a chunk of bread.

'Quite well,' Baelish said. 'Trying times like these makes me wonder if Stannis coming in from the Northeast is apt for changing times'.

'But then it would war,' Sansa whispered. 'People will die'.

In her lifetime, Sansa hadn't seen any large wars despite being convinced by her brothers that they lived through the Greyjoy Rebellion despite it happening mostly in the South. The only person in her family that had personally dealt with the rebellion was Father and he'd so often tell them that it was such folly. A war started by fools. Sansa was yet to discover a war that isn't faught among fools.

'War is inevitable. Westerosi history has always indicated long periods of peace resulting from horrible atrocities of men resulting from their battles. Sure, there may be chaos and suffering thrown in the bid. But if there is indeed war, all we can do is support the Crown. Otherwise, one can expect to bend the knee for another monarch within the end of the war', Baelish took a seat next to her.

'You sound like Father,' Sansa pointed out.

'If it be of any good, Lady Stark, your father is one of the best advisors of the Crown,' Baelish chuckled. 'The amount of honorability in him still stands uncontested in the Seven Kingdoms'.

'Well, Father can have his honourable principles,' Sansa muttered. 'They weren't much good, at least in my case'.

Sansa had remembered how naive she had been the first time she had set foot at Winterheld Keep, a school of sorts in teaching those whose senses are magically attuned. She had been bullied endlessly into taking up tasks the other students refused. Her time there had taught her one true lesson, never trust other sorceresses for they are snakes.

'You would love the court mages, Lady Stark,' Baelish said drily.

'My, what humour you have, Lord Baelish,' Sansa smirked. He wouldn't leave her alone until she finished her food.

Sansa found herself in good company. Baelish talked about everything without letting slip anything important. From his time at Riverrun being unofficially squired by the Blackfish to the misadventures he had with her Uncle Edmure. Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion coming from the camp.

'Oi! Come back here, boy!' one of the Lannister guards yelled. There were more shouts before the telltale clanging of metal on metal. Baelish got up with a muttered curse, stalking towards the shouting with Sansa on his heels.

'Let him go, he's just a boy,' Baelish ordered, neither amusement nor wariness in his voice.

Sansa looked towards the depths of the thick woods. If this was nothing but a ruse some clever bandit came up with, she had to be ready to strike first.

The child looked at least ten, had mud up to his elbows and face. Despite how the Lannister guard held him by the scruff, the child snapped and snarled like a wild dog, hands trying in vain to snatch the sword in the guard's other hand. Sansa took pity on the child. She was about to perform a cleaning charm when she met all too familiar brown eyes. Sansa's gaze travelled to the sword in the guard's grasp, a fine needle like blade. One that her brother Jon had given to-

'Arya!?' Sansa exclaimed.

'Let me go!' Arya Stark yelled, throwing her knees and elbows at the amused guard. The other men had started to watch after the initial shock of the commotion. Some had broke out in good natured laughter when Arya started cussing.

'This-this is absurd,' Sansa muttered under her breath. 'I'll kill her for this'.

One of the other guards let out a loud bark of a laugh when Arya took to insulting the guard's mother.

'Enough of this,' Baelish ordered. 'Let the younger Lady Stark down'.

When the guard let Arya go, the girl immediately scrambled for her sword. Yet he did not let her have it, always keeping the weapon out of her reach. The guard sought approval from Baelish, only handling the sword to the girl when Baelish gave him the slightest of nods. Arya retrieved her weapon , sticking it through the space between her belt.

'What are you doing here?' Sansa almost snapped at her sister.

'I followed you. Obviously,' Arya scoffed. Sansa waved her had at Arya's direction, allowing the cleaning charm to do its work.

'From where?' Sansa asked.

Arya muttered something that sounded like Riverrun.

'There is no other choice, Sansa. She's coming with us to King's Landing,' Baelish said.

Arya actually looked smug at this point.

'And let your Lord Father decide what is to be done with you,' Baelish told Arya, throwing an amused glance at Sansa.

'What?' Arya howled in dismay.

Then there was a shout of surprise, this time the men were rather quick to catch the other presumed runaway. A red head girl, also covered in mud was dragged towards Sansa and Baelish.

'Why am I not surprised,' Sansa sighed. cleaning the girl with the same spell she had her sister to reveal Oleander Redwyn. The orange headed girl looked defeated, barely just standing straight from the guard's grasp by her scruff.

Baelish groaned. Sansa could have imagined how horrible it have been to gain the responsibility of yet another troublesome charge.

'I'll have you shipped back to the Arbor, girl,' he said, walking away.

Sansa motioned for the guard to let Oleander loose.

'Would he?' Oleander asked, eyes wide with sudden fear.

'You could stay with Father and me for the time being,' Sansa reassured her.

Looking at the state of the two girls, Sansa couldn't help but sighed inwardly. 'Well, as mother would say, no point crying over spilt milk. Chin up the both of you'.

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 **AN: This much for now, more to come. Please review.**


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